


Wanted

by Santai



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cowboys, Eventual Loki/Tony Stark, Human Loki (Marvel), M/M, Slow Burn, Wild West, but fantasy wild west, without the awful cultural connotations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22173775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Santai/pseuds/Santai
Summary: U.S. Marshal Tony Stark is on the hunt for infamous gang leader, Thanos. The problem is you don't became as infamous as this guy by being easy to track down. The only lead Tony has left is the only known gang member to get away from Thanos with his life.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 41
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Folks! Fair warning, this was written as quite a flash and is a plot I would love to develop further but I can't guarantee when that might be. Still, I hope you enjoy the idea!

It was late evening when Tony strode into the saloon with confidence, but the bustling room barely noticed his arrival. It was masked by the noise, men yelling over the sound of each other, saloon girls squealing with professional glee, the barmen calling out random values of money that likely did not correlate in any way with the drinks he had just served, all underlined with passably played piano music. Just your typical small-town watering hole the night after a farmyard auction. The perfect time to ask around for a guy that people might otherwise be tight lipped about. 

Tony made his way through the crowd toward the bar, tipping his hat to the few that recognised him as a stranger to their establishment, deftly avoiding those who were already too far gone to pay him any attention at all. The barman greeted him cordially enough but seemed a little too concerned with keeping an eye on things in general to pay him too much mind. Tony made his best attempt at ordering over the din of the men propping up the bar itself and the barman made an attempt at understanding. They were both apparently successful because a few seconds later there was a glass of liquor in front of him and a hand held out ready for recompense. 

Tony made a show of digging around in his pockets for a while before pulling out his Marshal’s star and slapping it into the man’s hand. The man’s eyes widened a little too far at the sight of it, but why exactly that was, wasn’t Tony’s concern, though it did help his cause. With a fresh, irritating smirk on his face, Tony leant forward and gave him the description he felt like he’d given perhaps a hundred times over in the last month. Hopefully, if the last few days of that was anything to go by, this might just be the final time. 

At the description, the unmistakable spark of recognition lit in his eyes and he swallowed. Any fear the man might have had that Tony was there for him was apparently not abated by the knowledge of who Tony was actually there for. As a nudge in the right direction, Tony retook his star and replaced it with a pair of silver dollars, well over whatever made up price he would have had to pay for the liquor alone. 

The fear in the man’s eyes was dimmed somewhat by the shiny coins in his hand and he nodded his head subtly towards the back of the main room where a low archway marked the entrance to a secondary room. The only thing Tony could see from his position was a few more tables that didn’t seem anywhere as busy as the bar he was in now. And judging by the wide berth the entrance was given, it was not exactly open to the average joe. 

Tony nodded his thanks, picked up his drink and made a beeline, noting the increasingly numerous glances cast his way as he got closer to the archway. It was hard to tell whether they were suspicious as to why he was going in there, or just jealous that no one was stopping him. Tony just made sure to send as many of them as possible a gracious smile as he ducked his head under the archway and stepped into the room. 

It was amazing how much of a deafening effect one wall could have. The din of the bar outside quieted the moment he stepped through the arch. This room was a far plusher than the other. Some sort of VIP area by the looks of it, with only about five tables total with chairs that were actually cushioned as far as a small-town saloon was willing risk paying for stuffing that would inevitably fall victim to repeated inundations or a rogue knife swing. There was even a leather sofa pushed up against one a wall. 

Only a few of the tables were occupied, likely the owners of the various ranches and farmsteads, the hands and workers of filled the bar outside. They were talking at normal human volume amongst themselves, business discussions from the odd snippet Tony caught. A game of cards was ongoing at one table, a small pile of coins in the centre. 

This was much more Tony’s speed. Thankfully, he’d changed out of his travel clothes before he arrived in the town, exchanging the thick, comfortable travelling clothes for a long leather duster, tailored waistcoat over a white shirt, and his least dusty pair of trousers, topped with a black gamblers hat. All in all, he’d dressed well enough to not garner more than a few cursory glances from this crowd as he paused in the archway and surveyed the scene. Though, apparently, his presence was unusual enough for Tony not to have to look too hard to find who he was looking for. 

At the table farthest from the arch, one man’s gaze lingered a little too long on Tony to be merely curious. Long, black hair was brushed back over his head and oiled to a sheen, his eyes were sharp and glinting in the light of the gas lamps as they ran over Tony evaluatively. He was leaning forward in his chair, temple resting on a fist propped up on the table as he spoke through an easy smile to one of the two men he was sat with. Taking a sip of his drink, Tony meandered in the direction of the table. At the movement, the man’s gaze went from subtle glance to open acknowledgement of his presence and he sat back in the chair, his smile remaining. He said something Tony couldn’t hear to the men he was with and they stood without further word. 

Tony had to fight the urge to put a hand to the hilt of the revolver at his hip. The last thing he needed was a gunfight, not while he was so close. But the men simply turned and walked straight past Tony with only the barest indication they even knew he was there. Tony paused in place as they passed, sipping his drink as he followed him with his gaze until they were out of the archway. Once they were gone, he turned back to the man who was now languidly reclining in the chair to the point it was up on two legs, that cocksure smile firmly in place. 

Tony rose an eyebrow in silent question. 

“If you are who I think you are, I would prefer to have this conversation with a little...discretion,” the man explained in answer, then gestured at one of the recently vacated chairs opposite him, “Please.” 

The accent sealed it, he’d found him. Tony chuckled and crossed the last couple of yards in unhurried strides. He set his glass on the table and lowered himself into the offered chair, “You know who I am?” 

The man watched him until he was seated, taking a sip of his own liquor as he did. Once Tony was settled, he tilted his head a little, “I’m fairly confident I know at least what you are. Not many lawmen this far north. They have an aversion to the cold it seems. You’re well outside your usual jurisdiction, Marshal...” 

“Tony Stark,” Tony told him as he removed his hat and tossed it onto the table 

“A pleasure, Marshal Stark,” the man greeted cordially, “What brings you up this way?” 

Tony ran a hand through his hair to get some of the hat hair from it, “Yeah, well, big game swims in a big pond, Mr Laufeyson. Sometimes you gotta swim quite a distance to get it.” 

“My bounty expired weeks ago,” Mr Laufeyson responded smoothly, and by doing so, acknowledging that Tony had, indeed, finally found his guy. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted a journey.” 

“The federal one, sure,” Tony replied with a shrug, noting the slight twitch to the corner of Laufeyson’s smile that was the first crack in his smug facade. 

“I never realised that Marshal’s salary was so meagre you must debase yourself with private bounty hunting,” Laufeyson said, with a tone of exaggerated dismay, “I’m appalled.” 

“Are you kidding?” Tony gave a breath of laughter as he started to dig around the inside of his duster, “The amount of money Odin’s put on you, I could retire,” he commented lightly as he rummaged. 

The smile never faded from Laufeyson’s face, but the glint in his eye took on a dangerous edge. Tony hadn’t seen a weapon on him as he’d approached, but if the multitudes of stories about the guy were even remotely true, people rarely did until it was in their throat. Laufeyson tilted his head with a curious frown on his face, “How did you find me, Stark?” 

“I knew where to look,” Tony said evasively as he finally found what he was looking for and pulled the folded bill from an inside pocket of his duster. He held it out to Laufeyson, “Lucky for you, I’m too young to retire.” 

Laufeyson’s smile faded as his intense ticked between Tony’s eyes for a long, scrutinising moment during which Tony refused to look away from despite the intensity in them. They weren’t quite as green as Tony had been expecting. The guy didn’t disclose what he saw in Tony’s eyes but he let the chair drop back to all four legs with a resounding clack and gently took the offered bill. 

Once it was in his hand, Tony sat back in his chair and watched him carefully over the lip of his glass. 

Laufeyson unfolded the bill with a schooled neutral expression, but the moment he saw the sketch it bore, the neutrality became stony. He froze in place until his eyes snapped back to Tony’s. They were completely unreadable. 

“Thanos.” 

“Used to run with him, didn’t you?” Tony asked, not that he needed an answer to a question he already knew the answer to. 

Laufeyson’s jaw clenched as he discarded the bill onto the table between them, eyes narrowed at Tony, “ _Used to_ is a particularly important term,” just as he finished his sentence, Laufeyson blinked and a look of amused realisation passed over his face, “You’re not here to arrest me. You’re here to recruit me.” 

Tony couldn’t help but smirk. The guy was starting to live up to his reputation of being able to completely see through anyone who might be trying to hide something. 

A disbelieving laugh fell from Laufeyson’s lips, he shook his head and abruptly stood from the table, “Have a good night, Marshal.” 

With that, he walked briskly away. 

Tony scowled. He’d expected some resistance. Hell, he had had nothing else to do over the last month but plan out a long and intricate speech as to why he was looking for Laufeyson’s help in the first place, as well as a comprehensive list of reasons it was a good idea. He had at least expected to have been given the courtesy of being able to give explain those reasons. 

Scowl firmly in place, Tony threw back the remains of his drink, snatched up the bill and his hat, and went after him. 

The guy had legs almost as long as Tony’s horse and he was outside the saloon before Tony managed to catch up, striding away down the street, shoulders hunched against the chilled evening air. 

“Hey!” Tony called, and to his surprise, Laufeyson stopped in place, heaved an audible sigh, breath misting around his head, and turned. 

“If you go after Thanos, he will kill you,” he said, sounding thoroughly bored of this conversation, “And in the process of killing you, he will find out that I helped you, he will kill me too.” 

Tony didn’t hurry to catch up, replacing his hat as walked. 

“Now, I have no qualms about the former,” Laufeyson continued, that cocksure smile he wore like armour had returned, “However, the latter is something I am rather invested in.” 

“Not even for a cut?” Tony asked, eyebrow raised, “It’s a lot of money.” 

Laufeyson chuckled and shook his head, “Contrary to what posters would have you believe, no amount money is worth my life.” 

Tony exhaled. Well the carrot hadn’t worked. “I didn’t want do this but...it took me a while to find you, it might not take the next guy so long with a little help.” 

Any sense of entertaining the conversation dropped from the guy’s face in an instant and Tony saw his hand twitch was very real reminder he was stood just a couple of yards from probably the only guy in America who could outdraw most guns with a small blade. 

“And news of a dead Marshal is going to bring more of us,” Tony said quickly, hoping to head off that thought train at the pass, “We’re vultures like that.” 

Laufeyson just watched him carefully, evidently considering his options, “I don’t know where he is. And I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“I just want some info,” Tony said, “You’re the only guy anyone knows of that ran with him and got out alive. Then I’ll leave you to...” Tony glanced around the mostly empty street, “Whatever it is you’ve carved out for yourself here. As far as anyone will know, I never found you.” 

There several seconds of tense silence during which Tony forced himself not to reach to his hip. The last thing he needed to do was escalate the situation. He only knew this guy by reputation and based on that reputation, the odds of him surviving an outright fight were probably just over 50/50. It was not a gamble Tony was willing to take. 

“Fine,” Laufeyson said eventually, breaking the tension, “Meet me here at first light.” 

“Oh, and let you disappear in the middle of the night?” Tony asked, “I don’t think so.” 

Laufeyson eyed him, clearly unaccustomed to being caught in a lie, “Very well, fetch your horse and follow me.” 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a quiet walk out of town. Loki led him along a well-worn dirt road that took them uphill away from what constituted civilization this far north. Tony held loosely on to Dummy’s reins as the horse walked obediently beside him, being sure to keep Loki at least five paces ahead and his free hand on the butt of his revolver. The guy seemed amenable enough for now, but the stories Tony had heard on his month-long search were more than enough to keep him on his toes. Loki was known as ‘The Trickster’. A conman first and foremost, a liar, a cheater and a thief. He apparently tried to leave the dirtier work to his associates but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of it if he needed to. No one in his former line of work lived long if they weren’t.

Loki hadn’t said a word since they had set off, walking with a relaxed air about him, shoulders back, hands in his pockets, only turning occasionally to check Tony was still following, or to gauge his odds at escaping, Tony couldn’t quite tell. Those quick glances were underpinned by that perpetually confident smirk was hard to read, especially in the moonlight. They walked in silence for the first twenty or so minutes until there wasn’t so much of a flicker of an oil lamp visible, when, after one particularly lingering look back, Loki broke the quiet.

“You look cold, Marshal,” he said offhand, returning his gaze forward, “Perhaps you’ve swum a little too far out of your pond.”

“I’ll live,” Tony replied shortly. Hopefully.

“Not far now,” Loki assured.

He’d lost any measure of the irritation he’d displayed earlier, but once again Tony had no idea whether that was just another act.

It was another half hour or so of walking through the darkness with no signs of any other life. Tony was just starting to consider the very real possibility that Loki had just led him out here to kill him after all when he finally turned through an arch in the wooden roadside fence and started up a short path towards a squat cabin that was only a few bricks above shack status.

“Thought you’d be living a healthier lap of luxury than this given how much money you’ve stolen over the years,” Tony commented as he approached.

“You do so enjoy your stories, don’t you Marshal?” Loki said, not looking back at him as he started up the porch steps to the cabin’s front door.

“Stories are all we get to go on,” Tony said after him as he loosely wrapped Dummy’s reins to the hitching post near the stairs. The horse was smart enough to know not to wander off and a quick getaway may well still be a requirement. “Part of the job is working out which ones are real.”

Loki paused with his hand on the door handle before turning and fixing him with an odd look, “You'd be the first Marshal I’ve met to even contemplate such a thing.”

“And how many Marshals is that?”

Loki just smiled that enigmatic smile and stepped into the cabin, Tony following shortly behind.

Inside was dark, cold, and sparse. It was a simple, single roomed cabin, a handful of kitchen counters and cupboards lined one wall round a stovetop, and a sagging bed was sat in the other, its rough blankets neatly made. An empty stone fireplace formed the only interesting feature of the otherwise plain wood building. The majority of the space in the middle was taken up by simply carved wooden table. Loki was making his way around the room, pausing occasionally to light the various oil lamps, bringing a gentle illumination to the room. Tony pulled off his hat and tossed it onto the table.

“Got anything to drink?” he asked, as Loki finished his loop and faced him across the table.

Loki eyed him a moment before moving off to the kitchen and began pulling open cupboard doors.

Tony watched him for a few seconds, wondering how it could take so long to find the liquor in 20-foot square room. He glanced around the room again, noting the thin layer of dust coating everything, contrasting with the neatness, the lack of belongings anywhere, and the very empty fireplace, which seemed odd in this climate. There hadn’t been any other horse outside either...

It clicked and Tony scowled to himself, “You don't live here do you?”

There was the sound of clinking glass as Loki pulled a brown bottle from one of the cupboards and turned it over in his hands, squinting at the worn label, “Does it matter?” The answer was distracted as he pulled the cork from the bottle and sniffed its contents.

“Whose is it?”

“It belongs to a local hunter,” Loki replied as he pulled a mismatched pair of cups and set them on the table between them, “He won’t be using it for a while.”

“He dead?” Tony asked, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

“Do you always assume the worst in people?” Loki asked apparently unsurprised by the thinly veiled accusation, focused on pouring out two measures, “He’s in the next town over, selling his pelts. He left two days ago and won’t be back for another five.”

“Why bring me here?”

“Would you have led me to your home were our situations reversed?” Loki asked, loosely corking the bottle and setting it down, finally looking up to read Tony’s expression, “My hands are clean in this town, Marshal.”

“So far.”

Loki sighed and despite the continued smile on his face, something in his eyes hardened, “I don’t care for the insinuation, Stark. Did you come here to find the information you seek or was that merely a ruse to allow you to insult me in private? Because if it is to be the latter, I would have no qualms in bringing this discussion to the bloody conclusion you are clearly expecting of me.”

Tony held his gaze for long enough to confirm that it was a very real sentiment before holding his hands up in surrender.

Loki nodded, accepting his victory, “Now, if you would please put your weapon on the table? I would rather not be gut shot once our conversation is over.”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Loki chuckled and it sounded genuinely amused for a second as he opened his overcoat to show the clean green shirt and black waistcoat underneath, “Marshal, you approached me, in populated saloon, in a town where I am doing everything to not be the man you’ve hunted. I’m unarmed.”

Tony rose an eyebrow as glanced over him and on the surface, it looked as though he was telling the truth, “People know I was coming after you, you know.”

“And if you are found dead with a knife in your throat then I will be the first suspect,” Loki finished the implication for him, “I’m no fool. And I am keen to get his over with.”

Tony remained still, trying to figure out his options but he hated to admit that Loki was right. If he wanted to kill him, he would have done it in wilderness on their way here. Leave his body for the animals, probably never to be found. Instead, he’d brought him to an occupied, if currently quiet cabin, offered him a drink from a shared bottle, and was willing to talk.

He shrugged as though it was nothing and pulled his revolver from its holster and laid it on the table.

Seeing it, Loki tilted his head, “An unusual design.”

“I tinker,” Tony said dismissively, pulling out one of the chairs and taking a seat at the table, “Let’s get started, shall we? Tell me about Thanos.”

Loki sat opposite him, reaching for one of the two drinks, drawing out the silence by taking a sip of the liquor, grimacing, and setting the drink aside, “What is it you would know?”

Tony pulled the other cup towards him and sniffed it experimentally. It smelled pretty much like the backwater hooch he expected. “They say he doesn’t typically let people leave...how’d you manage it?”

“What can I say? I have a particular skill of making myself an inconvenience.”

“Meaning?”

“He has little loyalty to his men, especially those he considers a nuisance,” Loki answered, “So, when I was believed to have been picked off in in a petty dispute between gangs, he wasn’t about to waste any effort confirming it.”

“Heard about that. Lost a couple of men both sides. You didn’t do a great job of faking your death, though,” Tony frowned, “As far as we were concerned you were just in the wind.”

“Faking one’s death implies a certain level of forethought,” Loki explained, taking another tentative sip of the hooch, “I took a presented opportunity. If Thanos heard you and yours considered me alive, it was probably hubris that told him not to take it too seriously.”

Tony ran his eyes over him briefly, hunting for any hint of an old wound, “Did you actually get shot?”

“Is that relevant?”

“Just curious.”

Loki rose an eyebrow, “Curiosity is a dangerous force to yield alone in a cabin with an outlaw.”

Tony scoffed and leant back in his chair, noting the aversion to the topic. “Know where he went after you 'died’?”

“I know where he was planning on going, but that was several months ago. I’ve done everything in my power to keep away from him since then. Dead men don’t tend to ask about their former lives.”

“Last we heard was he and his group attacked a caravan out east. Slaughtered them. Well-”

“Only half of them...” Loki stated flatly, apparently already aware of what he was going to say.

Tony eyed him, gauging the reaction, “That something he did when you ran with him?”

Loki nodded slowly, averting his gaze as he reached for the cup again.

Tony paused, then shook his head, “Why’s he do it?”

Loki grimaced as he finished the poor excuse for liquor, and wafted his hand, “Some delusion that this country’s resources are limited. The only solution being to reduce the demand.”

There was a stoic detachment to his words this time, that was more indicative than any emotion could have been.

“You ever help him?”

“He had plenty of help, not all of it offered voluntarily,” Loki reached for the bottle and poured a fresh drink.

“Where he would go if he was trying to lay low?”

Loki paused as he watched the liquid swirl and then level , “You’ll die if you ever cross paths with him, you know that?”

The idle, passing nature of comment caught Tony off guard somewhat. He covered it with a smirk, “So concerned, I’m flattered.”

“Don't be, I’m more concerned about he’ll learn from you before you die.”

“Loki Laufeyson!”

Loki’s attention snapped to the door of the cabin behind Tony, eyes narrowed uncertainly.

Tony's brow twitched at the new voice. An unfamiliar voice calling from somewhere outside. He sat up and turned in his seat slightly, cautious about turning his back on Loki. The door was still closed but he could see the faint light of a torch flickering outside through one of the grubby windows.

“Didn’t realize the name was so valuable! Get out here Laufeyson before we come in and get you.”

Tony’s frown became a scowl and he looked back into the face of threat. Loki's eyes were steely, levelled at him across the table. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was that scared him, but instinct told him he was in danger. Tony could only have glanced to his gun for the briefest of moments but it was enough to signpost his intentions because the second he moved to grab it, Loki moved too.

A slim bladed knife stabbed into the table less than an inch from Tony's hand, blocking its path to the revolver. The rumors had been true, Tony noted silently as he lifted his gaze to Loki again. Loki was still holding the knife's handle, leant over the table slightly.

“You said you were unarmed.”

There was no smile anymore, simply the dark, dangerous expression of a known outlaw, “I’m disappointed that you expected any different,” he was speaking low and quiet, “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You are the cause of this problem, you will be the solution.”

“How is this my fault?” Tony hissed in return, unsure exactly why he was putting effort in to match Loki’s tone despite the fact that it was very obvious they were inside.

“Because I have been here for weeks in peace and only hours after you turn up do is my name called for financial gain,” Loki snapped, “Inadvertently or not, you caused this, you will fix it.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” Tony asked.

The voice outside continued, “You’ve got to the count of ten!"

“If I get taken back to Odin, you will lose your only connection to Thanos.”

“Ten!”

Tony shrugged, “You already said you didn’t know where he was. I’m a Marshal, I can’t stop the rightful claiming of a bounty.”

“Nine!”

A muscle in Loki’s jaw tensed and he glanced over Tony's shoulder at the door.

“Eight!”

Loki huffed and looked back to Tony, “Get me out of this and I’ll tell you all I know. Everything from my time with him.”

“Seven.”

“Two years of information you won’t get if I’m dragged away.”

“Six.”

Tony squinted at him as a surprising thought occurred, “Show me.”

“Five.”

Loki frowned, “What?”

“Four.”

“Take me there. Show me his hideouts and his bolt holes and how he operates and I’ll get you out of this.”

“Three.”

Tony could see the cogs whirring in Loki’s eyes, brow creased as he worked through some complicated thought process. A thought process that was probably along the same lines as the one Tony should have undertaken before asking this man to guide him in his trail after Thanos. While Loki had never been known to be the bloodiest of Thanos’s associates, he was by no means innocent either. The knife between his splayed fingers was an indication of that.

“Two!”

Loki chewed his inside of his cheek before his expression settled into one of irritated acceptance as he yanked the knife from where it was wedged in the wood, “Fine.”

Tony flashed a victorious grin, grabbed his gun and stood to push open the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Loki tugged his knife free of the table and watched as the Marshal snatched up his hat, flashed a cocksure smirk and disappeared through the door of the shack. He caught a brief glimpse of the mob beyond, gathered around the porch, looking about as clichéd as he expected. There were even pitchforks, not that Loki had seen them anywhere in the town before that night. He should have known really. The value that Asgard had put on his name had the irritating ability to draw many an unsavoury out of the woodwork.

When he had stumbled on this back-water trapping town that didn’t even recognize his name, let alone his face, Loki had thought he’d finally moved far enough to drop off the radar. And for a few weeks that had proved to be true. Long enough for him to talk his way into a meagre house and source of income enough to keep himself fed. He had started to think he had found somewhere he could find at least semblance of peace and quiet. Maybe actually take the time to recover fully from his ‘death’ that felt remarkably recent since the scar sitting just under his ribs still ached with almost every movement.

And now this Marshal Stark had ruined everything.

Loki knew of Stark much the same way he had made a point of knowing of every Marshal he learnt the name of. The more one knew of their hunters, the easier they were to evade. Stark had had a reputation that meant, in his previous life, Loki had hoped never to have to encounter him. Not his fighting prowess necessarily, though there were enough stories to vouch for that, rather it was his renown as one of the few lawmen who were resolutely ‘good’. To Loki’s knowledge, the man could not be bought, or threatened, or tricked out of a hunt once he embarked on one. Case in point, this suicidal endeavour to bring Thanos to any sort of justice. Something that Loki had absolutely no intention of being a part of, contrary to what he might have agreed.

Loki stayed in place until the door to the shack closed was closed fully. The moment he lost sight of the outside, he bolted for the window. It slid up with surprising ease for what could be described as little more than painted rot, allowing Loki to ease his way out and shut it behind him.

The indistinct sound of mob mentality could he heard from the front of the building, occasionally overshadowed by the Marshal calling for calm. It seemed as though it was starting to work. Schooling his breathing into low, even breaths that fogged up against the cold, Loki crouched and slipped along the wall of the shack towards the flickering orange light of multiple lanterns.

“I appreciate your concerns,” he could hear the Marshall calling over the din of people, “It’s all under control.”

“To hell with control!!” someone in the crowd yelled back, “We want the money!”

The haze of voices went up again. Loki took the moment of distraction to peek around the corner of the building. There was around twenty of them total, almost half the population of the town, all armed. A drawback to finding oneself in a settlement populated entirely by hunters, Loki supposed. Thankfully, they were all very much focused on the Marshal who was stood on the front porch, hands up in a calming gesture, his silver star glinting in one hand. Loki turned his attention away, peering into the darkness and what he saw was disappointing. It seemed the entire mob had walked here, leaving the only viable option for escape as the Marshal’s own horse. A risk, if there ever was one. Still, it was better than nothing.

The sound of the mob was quieting again and the Marshal’s was taking over. He was getting more of their attention, the time he had left to make his move was dwindling quickly. Loki glanced back to the Marshal one last time, and moved away from the wall, out of the pool of orange light of the lanterns and into the shadow before heading down the short hill.

It was a decent mount by the looks of it. A deep bay colour, loaded with saddle bags and travelling gear that barely reacted as Loki began to carefully unwrap the reins from the hitching post. Loki gave a testing pull. There was a worried moment when the horse remained still but after a bit more application of force, its head eased in his direction and eventually the rest of its body followed. Loki allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He had assumed a Marshal’s horse would be better trained than this, but wasn’t about to look it in the mouth as the horse kept pace with barely an instruction as they began to walk. A part of him wanted to leap into the saddle, drive in his heels and not slow until sunrise, and he would have were he not so aware of the number and skill of the gunmen behind him, not to mention the reputation of Marshal Stark as has having often unexpected means of stopping power. For now, he had to lid his fears and remind himself of the all too intimate knowledge of what a bullet to the back felt like, and walk the horse out of earshot. Then he could push on. Start his search for peace all over again.

He walked for a few minutes, not looking back but keeping his ears pricked for the sound of a shout going up, an early warning that would signpost a gunshot, but the only sounds were the quieting of a mob losing interest someway behind him. It wasn't long after that before the only sounds he could hear were those of the forest around him. He glanced over his shoulder and all he could see was the slight glint of lantern through the dense understorey of the forest that lined both sides of the dirt road. Nothing coming his way.

Loki smiled at his own small victory as he brought the horse to a stop.

“Let’s see what sort of ride quality the US Marshal Service has,” he said softly, lifting one foot into the stirrup and easing himself up into the saddle.

He paused a second, waiting for the horse to buck, or throw him, something he mighy expect it to do to someone that wasn't its usual rider, but the horse stood obidiently waiting for instruction, as well trained as any horse that Loki had had ever ridden.

He gathered up the reins in his hands and he fidgeted to find a comfortable position. The horse tossed its head a little at the movement and Loki stilled, “You will have to forgive me, it’s been some time. Now, shall we be off?”

Loki pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks and it started forward. A smile found its way to his face and he began to consider that perhaps there was a silver lining to be found in the midst of this disruption . He had gotten himself a new horse out of it, a good one at that, not to mention, who knew what the Marshal was carrying with him on what must have been a few weeks of travel? There would be plenty of time to investigate that when he was safe enough to rest, but for now, he needed to get away from this place. And from the Marshal.

The horse walked with an easy, lilting gait that had Loki swaying in time until the sound of a whistle went up distantly from the direction he had come from. It was so faint that at first Loki wasn’t sure he had heard anything at all, but the horse's ears pricked up and back.

A second whistle sounded and the horse stopped in its tracks. Loki narrowed his eyes a moment and cautiously shortened the reins.

“Come on, now,” Loki pressed its flanks once against but horse didn’t respond.

Perhaps it was better trained than Loki had anticipated.

There was third whistle, and immediately the horse turned 180 degrees and launched into a full gallop. The speed of the turnaround almost threw Loki from the saddle but he gripped the pommel and managed to fall in to the rhythm of its movement fast enough to remain seated. Though, there was no small part of him that considered that perhaps being thrown into the underbrush of the forest may have actually been a better idea.

The horse covered the distance they had walked in several minutes in just a few seconds of full gallop, only slowing as the shack and its fenced perimeter came back into view. The mob was nowhere in sight thankfully, but it was a small thing to be thankful for because the Marshal was leaning against the fence line in the light of the one remaining lantern hung over the fencepost. The horse slowed from a gallop to a canter and to a skidding halt in front of the Marshal.

There was a beat of silence that hung in the air as the Marshal stepped up to the horse’s nose, pressing something to its mouth that was eagerly nibbled up. Loki waited in silence until the Marshal finally tilted his head up to look at Loki. His features were neutral, but there was a smug amusement glinting his deep brown gaze.

Loki held it in silence for a moment before presenting a cordial smile, “Well, I had to try.”

The corner of the Marshal’s lips twitched as he suppressed some expression, “Didn’t expect anything less,” he readjusted the horses reins, moving to stand besides its head, “You just picked the wrong horse.”

“There wasn’t much choice,” Loki pointed out, “My...fanclub as you call them wasn’t gracious enough to present any alternatives.”

“Mobs aren’t generally known for their forethought,” the Marshal mused looking back down the road in the direction of the town for a moment then looked back to him, “You’re welcome by the way.”

A bemused frowned pulled at Loki's eyebrows, “Whatever for?”

“Getting rid of them, protecting your ass, at the very least distracting them long enough to make sure you didn’t get shot in the back as you tried to steal my horse.”

“I would remind you Marshal,” Loki spoke deliberately slowly, “That you are the sole reason for that mob forming the first place.”

The Marshal screwed his features up into a sceptical expression, “Sole reason? There wouldn’t be a mob if there wasn’t a bounty and there wouldn’t be a bounty if there wasn’t a crime.”

“We’ve been over this,” Loki rolled his eyes, “The only bounty on my head is a private one and not for any crime I might add.”

“Odin might disagree.”

“Odin is a disagreeable man.”

The Marshal pulled that disbelieving face once again, but it passed with a sniff and he glanced off down the road, “We should probably get going before your fellow townsfolk realize a silver star won’t protect against that many guns.”

“I’d had a very similar thought...” Loki muttered to himself, looking over his shoulder the dark road that had been his escape.

If the Marshal heard him, he didn’t respond to it, “Any chance you're gonna tell me where you actually live?”

Loki looked back to him with a raised eyebrow, “Why would I do that?”

The Marshal shrugged, “Even if you wanted to come back here after tonight, figure we’ll be travelling for a fair distance. Thought you might want to pick up some belongings before we leave. You know, clothes, keepsakes,” he paused, gaze ticking down over him, as if searching for something, “...Any more knives you might have accidentally left behind.”

Loki felt a hint of genuine amusement threaten his façade, but he withheld it. “I keep everything I need with me, a habit of my former life I've yet to shake. Although, there is a horse I’d like to collect if we are to be travelling together for a while.”

The Marshal paused, eyeing him with scrutiny before he asked, “Is it your horse?”

Loki back in the saddle, pretending to muse to the night sky over head, “Can anyone truly own a horse?”

There was a beat of silence before the Marshal responded, "Then no.”

“Worth a try,” Loki sighed and fidgeted in the saddle, “It will certainly be cosy up here.”

“I wouldn’t worry, we won’t be sharing,” the Marshal stated, flatly.

“It will be a very long journey indeed at walking pace,” Loki returned, noting the Marshal was disappointingly unaffected by his jibes. All the more reason to continue. “I never realized you wanted to draw this out. Are you sure that's what you want?”

“All the more time for you tell me what I want to know,” the Marshal replied easily, presenting a thin, false smile, “With the added benefit of knowing you can’t take off in the middle of the night. Win win.”

Loki gave a slow shrug, “I’m sure we can take it in turns then. It only seems fair given the favour I’m doing for you. Perhaps you can even purchase one for me in the next town over. An advance on my cut should by some miracle we survive this fool hardy endeavour.”

The Marshal scoffed and wagged his finger, “I would, but I recall you already turned it down.”

“Well, in that case, I’m a superb animal handler,” Loki reached down and patted the horse on its wide neck, “We’ll be getting along famously in no time.”

The Marshal regarded him, the corner of his lip quirked up ever so slightly for a moment before something seemed to occur to him and he scowled, “Get off my horse.”

This time, Loki allowed some of his amusement to leak onto his face in a wry smile and he held the Marshal’s gaze as he lifted a leg gracefully over the saddle and slid to the ground. He bowed and gestured to the horse as he stepped back out of the way.

“All yours, I am but a humble guide.”

“From what I know about you, Loki,” the Marshal said as he pulled himself up into the saddle, “You don’t know the meaning of the word humble.”

“Stories, stories, stories, Marshal, you know nothing of me but stories,” Loki responded, then gestured down the road, “Now if you don’t mind, I would prefer to get moving. The sooner you have your information, the sooner I can return to my humility.”

With a quiet yet amused scoff, the Marshal flicked the reins and the horse began to move. Loki watched the horse pass in front of him and get a few feet away before he exhaled, plucked the still lantern from tge fence and turned to follow.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a light snow falling around them by the time Marshal Stark determined that they had put enough distance between themselves and the town to set up camp for the night. Loki didn’t mind the cold usually but he had to admit that, as meagre as his ‘home’ had been, he had been quite enjoying sleeping under a roof warmed by a hearth. The thought of having to return to a nomadic lifestyle for what would likely be his last weeks in this world was not one that he relished. 

Still, now was not the time to make another escape attempt. The Marshal would be far too attentive of his movements after his failed bid for freedom just a couple of hours earlier and Loki hadn’t lived this long by being foolhardy. This journey was to be a long one and there would be plenty of time to slip away before there was any risk of encountering Thanos himself. He could bide his time. 

So, when the Marshal dismounted and began to lead his horse off the road, Loki followed in dutiful silence. He even made some effort in the gathering of firewood and setting up a semblance of a camp in a sheltered rocky alcove that should keep the worst of any wind off them as they slept. The Marshal seemed to be experienced in the process and in no time at all, it was done. 

Once the fire was crackling, Loki seated himself cross-legged on the thin spare bedroll the Marshal had given him and held his hands up to the heat, watching the glowing sparks drift up to meet the falling snowflakes, both fading into the darkness as they crossed paths. The Marshal was dealing with his horse just on the edge of the firelight, talking quietly to it as he removed the saddle and replaced it with a thick woollen blanket. Loki watched him in curious silence. It had been some time since he had crossed paths with any sort of law, but the encounter so far was not going how he typically remembered they would. He’d not had a weapon aimed at him, let alone fired. No curses or insults. The only threat had been about maybe telling someone else where he was. It was refreshing actually. He certainly wasn’t happy about being a guide but he didn’t feel like a prisoner either. How long that would last, he couldn’t be sure. 

Loki was lost enough in his thoughts that he was caught off guard a bit when the saddle was dumped onto the ground nearby, followed shortly by a set of packed saddle bags, and then their owner who dropped onto his own, thicker bedroll with a quiet huff of breath that billowed into the cold night air. He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth then pulled off his hat, discarding it to one side and ruffled at the mess of dark hair only a shade lighter than Loki's as though attempting to return some semblance of tidiness. A futile endeavour judging by the looks of it. Still the Marshal seemed satisfied, and moved his attention away, pulling one of the saddle bags towards him. If he was aware of Loki watching him, he made no show of it. 

“I have a question,” the Marshal broke the silence between them after a minute or so, speaking with distraction as he rummaged through the bag in his lap. It was the first thing the man had said to him since they’d left that hunting cabin. 

“Astounding...” Loki muttered under his breath. 

“How’d you end up in a backwater like that?” Tony continued as though he hadn’t said anything, finally reaching into the bag and pulling out a silver hip flask, flipping the lid up to inspect the contents, “Must be a step down from your glamorous previous life.” 

Loki tensed and for a moment, he wondered which of the ‘stories’ could possibly have given the impression that running with Thanos was glamourous. The scar under his ribs ached as he reactively tensed at the memories. 

“I confess it wasn't the result of careful planning or a deep consideration of the pros and cons,” Loki said, as offhandedly as he could despite the knot in his stomach, “I found a settlement that didn’t drive me on any further, and didn't attempt to take me back to where I had come from and decided not to look the horse in the mouth too hard so to speak.” 

The Marshal took a swig from the hip flask, and replied through a grimace, “Wouldn’t be my first choice of a retirement home either,” he agreed, then looked directly at Loki for the first time since they’d set up the camp and held out the hip flask to him. a lazy eyebrow raised, as if the two of them were simply travellers who were sharing the road together. But there was something intensely intelligent in the glint of his deep brown eyes that belied just how aware the Marshal was of the situation. He was probably just as on edge as Loki and doing just as much to cover it up. Loki regarded him for a moment then the flask, trying to figure out what purpose sharing his drink would serve. Seeing the suspicion in the look, the Marshal wiggled the flask for emphasis, “What could I possibly gain from poisoning you? C'mon, gotta be better than that swill you gave me. Besides, my spare blanket is pretty thin, you’ll need all the help you can get if you don’t want to freeze to death night one.” 

“Perhaps you should have come better prepared if you didn’t want to your only lead to perish so quickly,” Loki answered pointedly, but took the flask. He tipped it back for an experimental mouthful. It was passable, bordering on good and he took another before handing it back. 

“Things haven’t gone exactly to plan,” the Marshal flipped the lid back into place, stuffed the flask back into the bag and started looking for something else, brow furrowed, “We’ll need to stop in the next town over to resupply.” 

“Mobs have a habit of dramatically shifting one’s priorities,” Loki said idly, a wave of nostalgic amusement washing through him at various memories of adrenaline fuelled galloping, underscored by squealing gunshots and cacophonies of yelling. By no means enjoyable at the time, but in hindsight, the successful escapes were a victorious memory. 

“Can’t say I’ve had much experience...Ah!” he reached into the bag and pulled at it. 

It took some fighting but eventually he dragged a pair of iron manacles from the bag, spilling a couple of tins of ground coffee to the floor in the process. 

Loki’s sighed at the inevitable, “And I here thought we were becoming close.” 

The Marshal shrugged, “If you hadn’t tried to steal Dummy at the first opportunity I might not have bothered, but you know what they say about being fooled twice.” 

“It's not something I've ever had to consider,” Loki grumbled then rose an eyebrow at the Marshal as what he had said fully registered, “Dummy? You called your horse Dummy?” 

The Marshal blinked at him as though even the fact he was asking was a source of bemusement, “What’s wrong with that?” 

Loki couldn’t quite vocalise his response. 

Taking the opportunity, the Marshal shuffled around the fire and made to put the manacles around Loki’s ankles. 

For the briefest second, Loki spotted an opening. A flash of the Marshal’s neck between his hairline and the collar of the coat as be bent forward. The small blade secreted in his sleeve seemed to weigh heavier as though reminding him of its presence. It would be quick, possibly even clean if he got the angle right, and no one was around to know... 

He moved his fingers into position to free the blade and let the hilt slide into his palm and was about make the final move when something stopped him. Some strange combination of the aversion to getting his hands dirty and the knowledge that really, this man had done nothing to him. He had recruited him into a foolish endeavour but it was certainly not enough to warrant death. It seemed a shame to eliminate the first man in a long time who'd known exactly who and what he was and was still willing share a drink. 

The moment passed and the manacles were clasped around his boots without a fight. 

“Comfy?” the Marshal asked as he retreated back to his original spot. There was no haste to his movement, he clearly had no idea how close he had just come to the end of Loki’s knife. 

Loki pulled his ankle’s apart experimentally, clanking on the short chain. It was lenient enough, and surprisingly light. “As I could be, I suppose...” he frowned as he inspected them a little closer, “This isn't iron.” 

“Something lighter,” the Marshal said, vaguely. It was no metal that Loki had seen before. Perhaps this was the first encounter with some of that ‘World Famous Stark Technology’ that was this Marshal’s namesake. “It's just for the night,” the Marshal continued without expanding further, and Loki’s surprise he sounded almost apologetic. “Now get some sleep, it's just less a day to the next town over and I’d like to get some supplies before everything shuts up for the night.” 

Loki didn't respond and the Marshal obviously wasn't expecting one. He tossed the last of the firewood onto the flames and lay back onto his bedroll, pulling his blanket over him and laying his hat over his face. With a deep, aching breath, Loki returned his gaze to the fire, allowing his thoughts to drift until eventually exhaustion overcame the chill of the air around him and he too lay down to sleep. 

\-------------------- 

For a night sleeping in the freezing cold just a few feet from a confessed murderer, Tony actually slept relatively peacefully. His hat had slipped at some point so it was the light of dawn that woke him. Just as he’d hoped. Everything was covered in a light dusting of snow, even the huddled form of Loki, still curled up beneath the blanket close to the smouldering remains of the fire. It was only just light so he didn’t feel the need to poke the sleeping killer just yet. 

Instead, he set about rekindling the fire and set a pot of coffee brewing as he dismantled what he could of the camp around him. 

He had sort of hoped that the sounds of movement and the smell of the fire and the coffee would have gone some way to waking Loki so that he didn’t have to do it himself, but after nearly an hour of him not stirring, Tony sighed and leant over him. 

His chest was moving so that was good, he hadn’t frozen to death. The long black hair that had been so neatly pushed back over his head the day before was now a mess of loosely curled strands that fell over his face in places, partially obscuring his features. 

“Hey,” Tony started softly, “Loki.” 

There was no response. 

Tony pressed his lips into a thin line and squatted down. Not too close. He’d already been nearly stabbed by this guy once, and he didn’t want to make a habit of it. “Hey, wakey wakey sunshine.” 

Loki made no move. 

“Don’t make me pull this blanket off you,” Tony grumbled as he reached out and gently touched Loki's shoulder. 

The reaction was instant. 

With sudden, gasping breath, Loki sat upright as if he’d just had a bucket of water dumped on his head. The blanket was thrown off and Tony scrambled back on instinct as Loki’s arms came up in wild flail. He was glad he did because as Loki moved, he caught a glint of reflected light of metal and realized that in one hand was a punch dagger, the origins of which Tony couldn’t pretend to know. The thought of pulling a gun crossed his mind, but Loki’s movements weren’t aggressive. The opposite if anything. Once upright, Loki tried scrabble back, the restraints around his ankles hindering and slowly his progress which only seemed to add to the confused panic in his eyes. Tony frowned. The guy was terrified. A nightmare maybe? 

Tony threw up his hands in a peace gesture, “Hey! Hey, woah!” 

As he spoke, Loki slowed down, stopped trying to get away and just sat in place. The knife was still up in front of him but that initial blinding fear was receding and clarity was returning to Loki in deep slow breaths 

Tony continued, softer, brow still furrowed, “It’s just me.” 

Loki’s frantic gaze finally locked on Tony’s and he blinked and shook his head a little as if trying to clear something from it. 

“I actually don’t know how much of a reassurance that is, but I’m not gonna hurt you,” Tony continued, filling the silence that loomed if he didn’t. 

Loki took another deep, shuddering breath, and he hung his head. His hair fell forward to obscure his face again but most importantly, he finally lowered the knife. 

Taking that as a good sign, Tony lowered his hands, cautiously sitting forward, “You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, bringing one hand up to rub at his face. 

“Bad dream?” Tony inferred, drawing a scathing look from behind his hair. “Been there.” Tony turned and reached for the pot steaming over the fire and one of the metal cups he’d put out earlier, “Here, I made coffee. Get it while it’s hot. Which won’t be long in this winter wonderland.” 

Tony poured a decent measure into the cup and held it out handle first to Loki who eyed it before finally pushing his hair up over his head and reaching for the cup with his free hand. The other made a complicated gesture and the knife seemed to vanish. The logical part of Tony’s mind told him it must have been secreted into his sleeve but at a glance it might have well just ceased to exist. A fact Tony was quick to take note of. With both hands now free, Loki moved to try sit cross-legged, only for the clink of metal to hold him back. 

“Oh right, sorry,” Tony said quickly, digging around in his pocket and pulling out a small key. Seeing it, Loki angled himself so that his long legs were more easily accessible and Tony removed the manacles in a couple of quick movements. 

Free once again, Loki flexed his ankles then moved into his cross-legged position, both hands wrapped around his cup. 

“There’s not much in the way of breakfast, I’m afraid,” Tony continued on his battle against the awkward silence, “Just some jerky and dried fruit.” 

“Not much of a hunter, Marshal?” Loki said, his freedom and bit of caffeine apparently perking him up somewhat judging by the glint of amusement in his eyes as he watched him over the lip of the coffee, “You’re in the wrong profession.” 

“If the rabbits want to conveniently hop out here and try and steal my horse, I might have an easier time of it,” he replied, pointedly. 

Loki just smirked into his drink. 

“Right drink up, eat up,” Tony said, “We’re setting off as soon as Dummy is ready.” 

“Of course, I will wait for _Dummy_ to be ready,” Loki nodded solemnly, but there was twitch to the corner of his mouth. “It’s fitting I’ll be following a Dummy into this quest.” 

“Fitting you tried to steal one to get away,” Tony returned. 

Loki’s amusement faltered for a satisfying second, and Tony continued dismantling the camp around him. For a couple of minutes, Tony considered trying to probe a little about what could give such a hardened criminal such extreme nightmares, but judging by the way the guy now stared fervently into the flames, it wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have. So, they fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence while the rest of the camp was taken down, Dummy was packed up, and they re-joined the road, headed out on their first day on Thanos’s trail. 


	5. Chapter 5

The going was about as fast as could be expected for a Marshal shepherding a criminal who was overtly averse to being present. 

Despite the moment of familiarity they'd shared a few hours earlier at the makeshift camp, the Marshal remained wary of Loki and was making a sensible point of not letting him fall behind. So, in an act borne of little more than petulance, Loki was keeping his pace to a gentle amble. If there any where he wanted to be, the pace would probably have been agonizingly slow. Thankfully, there were few places Loki actively wanted to be, other than  _ not here _ . Unfortunately, he had concluded early into the first leg of this journey that it was unlikely that there would be any opportunity to remove himself from the situation while they were out on this secluded countryside road with only one horse very pointedly  _ not  _ being shared between them. To pass the time, Loki had instead settled for making his presence as inconvenient as possible. Perhaps by the time his opportune moment presented itself, the Marshal might reconsider the benefit of having his ‘assistance’ in this suicidal endeavor. Loki had no intention of ever seeing Thanos again and the whim of a Marshal with more righteousness than sense was not going to change that. 

At least it had turned out to be pleasant day, Loki mused as he cast his gaze out over the sparkling white hills of the plains stretching before them. The air was crisp and clear, and morning frost still laced the grasses and scrub that clung resolutely to life even in winter. Forests and crags dotted the horizon, punctuated occasionally by the grey white peaks of the mountain ridges in the far distance where the heavy snow made it hard to differentiate the land and the cloud filled sky. It was a beautiful vista and the freshness of the breeze that rolled across their path was a pleasant way to clear his mind of the lingering shadow of his nightly reminders of the worst days of his life. 

They had become regular enough that he was almost used to them. Or as used to them as one could be, he expected. They had started not long after he’d been a desperate and broken man ‘taken in’ by Thanos and the shine of his so-called savior wore off all at once the first he witnessed just how Thanos’s ravings about saving the world was to be enacted. It was a scene his subconscious was keen never let Loki forget. But by the time he’d witnessed it, it was too late to escape.

Over time, as he strived to survive his new sickening reality, the scenes of his nightmares began to overlap and morph to the point they lost any real semblance of a relation to real life. They existed now as a miasma of gut-wrenching emotion. 

Excruciating pain, paralytic fear, bottomless guilt. Guilt for both what he’d done under Thanos’s orders, and what he’d failed to prevent.

He had become accustomed to being unceremoniously awoken from them. His nightmares were not unique amongst Thanos’s gang and there was little pity to go around. Each morning he was kicked awake by some other lackey about Thanos’s camp, and greeted with a sneer and series of snapped orders. Only one had ever done so in range of his blade and the rest had learnt quickly after that. 

The experience that morning when Marshal had awakened him was not so dissimilar to what he had gotten used to. Even the screaming pain in his ribs had been an unusual occurrence when he ran with Thanos. What was a welcome difference, however, was that no one in his past had ever been courteous enough to greet him with careful reassurance, and a warm cup of coffee. It may have been the lingering sleep-fog clouding his thoughts, but it sounded as though there might have been a hint of genuine pity in the man’s voice as he spoke as well. The Marshal might be functionally holding him captive but at least he was being cordial about it. 

“Question for you.”

Despite the irritation Loki was hoping to elicit, the man had barely said a word to him since they'd set off, so the abrupt sound of his voice cut into Loki’s thoughts and he glanced up at him out of the corner of his eye. His chest and side were still aching from the sudden rousing and it was difficult enough to keep his posture upright, let alone twist. 

The Marshal was slouched in Dummy’s saddle, swaying gently in time with the horse’s easy gait. His chin was buried against his chest and his attention was dialed into something he was turning over one gloved hand as the other manipulated small tool of some kind. A screwdriver perhaps? His bare fingers were flecked pink and white from exposure. His hat was tilted low to keep the snowflakes from into his eyes, and coat pulled tight against a cold he was clearly unused to. Dummy’s reins were looped loosely around the saddle’s pommel, trusting the horse to guide himself. 

Loki rose his eyebrow, “Is it to get advice on how to more naturally start a conversation? Because it seems as though you may not be well-versed...”

The Marshal didn’t rise to his sarcasm, keeping his attention focused on the object in his hands, “Why didn’t you go back?”

The question was unexpectedly simple that Loki’s forehead twitched into a frown as he considered what the Marshal was really asking. He knew what the Marshal was referring to, but it might be worthwhile attempting to extract some indication of how much he knew of Loki’s past. “I'm sorry, Marshal, you’ll have to be more specific...” 

The Marshal wafted the tool offhandedly in Loki’s direction but didn’t look down at him, “To Thanos I mean. After you got separated.”

The choice of words struck a chord that deepened his frown. Separated. As if he and Thanos had merely had a disagreement and had cordially decided to part ways. He pursed his lips as he feigned exaggerated thought, “Why didn't I go back…” Loki rolled the concept around his mouth as if mulling it over, “Why didn’t I go back to the mass murdering psychopath who left me for dead in a burning barn?” He continued to consider the question, tilting his face to the sky as if it was some existential philosophy pondered with a series of exaggerated hums. 

“It’s a genuine question,” the Marshal said, lightly, shrugging one shoulder and dislodging a small puff of snowflakes in the process. He was more patient of Loki’s sarcasm than most who had had the displeasure of experiencing Loki’s reluctant company. 

“No, no, of course,” Loki replied, feigning an eagerness to please, “Forgive me but I thought you were seeking information that no other could possibly have had access to. Asking why I wouldn’t want to return to the most infamous monster that America has ever known feels a little...obvious.”

“Maybe. But I’m still asking. I need to get a feel for what sort of leader the guy is,” the Marshal explained, then broke off the thought train and squinted at project for a second he resumed the conversation at hand, “Judge the risk of his followers protecting him if things went south, or if there's a chance they could be turned. Are they  gonna take up the mantle when Thanos is taken out of the picture? That sort of thing.” He shrugged again. “But it’s starting to sound like that's not the case.”

“Those are three different questions, Marshal,” Loki offered. “Would his men die for him? Without question. Could they be turned? Absolutely not. Would any of them take up his cause in his stead? There are a couple perhaps, but broadly speaking,  no. ” 

The Marshal rose his eyebrows and nodded in acknowledgement but his eyes didn't leave the contraption in his hands, “That's all great, but doesn’t actually answer the question I asked.”

Loki frowned up at the Marshal, “The answer to your original question is far from complicated.”

“Thing is, Loki,” the Marshal put the screwdriver between his teeth, holding it like a cigarette, as he flexed his ungloved fingers in some attempt to bring a bit of warmth back. It gave him a slight lisp as he spoke around it. “If I was injured and alone as you claim, my first instinct would be to head for someone I knew. Someone who'd be able to protect me, maybe help patch me up. Especially if I was a known criminal who would probably be turned into the authorities by literally anyone else who caught up to me. All I want to know is why it wasn’t yours.”

Loki scrutinized him as the choice of his words weighed on that chord struck earlier. He parroted the phrase back with undisguised incredulity, “As I claim...?”

Apparently hitting the first of his annoyance thresholds, the Marshal exhaled forcefully through his nose, snatched the tool from his teeth, and turned slightly in his saddle to meet Loki's gaze for the first time. Expressive brown eyes regarded him, from under the brim of the hat, “You know they call you the  Liesmith , right?” he quirked a pointed eyebrow, then went back to the object in his hands that Loki could see now was a revolver barrel. A part of one those original designs he had mentioned the day before.

The rarer of Loki's many titles sparked a quiet note of amusement and he silently conceded the point. He let his gaze linger on the Marshal curiously for a moment, watching him fiddle with his revolver before saying, “I would question the point of you dragging me from my life if you’re not going to trust to the assistance I can provide,” Loki wondered loud enough for the Marshal to hear him, gaze back on the horizon, noting the collection of buildings that was likely the town they were heading for. “Perhaps we should just part ways now.”

The Marshal chuckled and to Loki’s surprise he sounded genuinely amused, “Sure, nice try. Think of it like a clock,” the Marshal said, setting his contraption into his lap as he looked back down to Loki, “Every time you  _ don't  _ lie to me, the closer it ticks to the midnight of me trusting you. The faster we get there, the faster we find Thanos and the faster you we can go our separate ways,” the Marshal’s tone a touch too condescending for Loki’s liking, “It's a win-win.”

“I fail to see my win scenario,” Loki replied, narrowing his eyes, “At best, I would be allowed to return a search to replace the meagre life you tore apart with your appearance yesterday. Frankly I see no victory there.”

“You know if you spent half as much time answering my questions as you do avoiding them, we might have found Thanos by now.”

Loki scowled and heaved a deep sigh, “Oh my sincere apologies Marshal Stark, we’ve spent so long disparaging my credibility, I must have forgotten what you asked. Please do forgive your humble servant.”

The Marshal’s mouth twitched with a restrained smile the tone of which Loki couldn’t quite pinpoint. He was giving Loki the full weight of his attention now, “Let’s assume you’re a decent enough survivalist, you knew your way around the camp last night and you wouldn’t have gotten this far as an outlaw without knowing how to live out here. Any other day I’d put your chances of survival alone in the wilderness as pretty good barring a rogue bear. But, if we  assume you’re telling the truth that you were, what,  gutshot ?” The Marshal hesitated, opening up the opportunity his assumption to be corrected. It was tactic Loki knew too well to be caught out by. He listened quietly. When the opportunity was allowed to slip past, the Marshal continued, “Suddenly, they’re not so great. The opposite of great. If we’re allowing that assumption, by all rights, Loki you should be dead.” He shrugged. “You’re a smart guy who’s made it clear he values his life so my question to you is: why gamble going it alone for this long when you’d have a better chance tracking down the guys you used to run with?”

An unexpected wave of memories crashed over Loki. The smell of smoke. The icy excruciation of his chest mottled with the wet warmth of blood against his clothes. His hand reaching out to Thanos. The sneer on Thanos’s face as it was kicked away. 

Loki broke eye contact for a moment, giving a breathy chuckle to cover his discomfort and shaking his head slowly, “If you think that my odds of survival would have been improved by going back to Thanos, then you have misunderstood your quarry far more than I feared.”

Marshal Stark’s was silent, looking down at Loki, his gaze measuring him but for what Loki was surprised to find he couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, a much lighter expression swept over his features and he sniffed, going back to his work. “That's all I needed to know.”

It was only as he looked away that Loki realized he’d brought his hand up and gripped his shirt protectively over the dull ache of his ribs. He quickly returned it to his side. 

The conversation lapsed into preferable silence after the Marshal had gotten the answer he was looking for. The man’s reputation for relentlessly pursuing what he wanted was starting to become more apparent. 

They walked in silence for the remainder of the journey to the small town that was the Marshals destination. 

The small trading post town was quiet save for the crunch of their footsteps on the frozen ground as they ambled up its main thoroughfare. There was only the basics here. A general store, butchers stall, saloon, gun store set along the main street, all overlooked by a modest chapel and surrounded by a few pens on the outskirts to provide temporary homes for livestock brought to market and the horses in livery at the stables. A few horses were tied up at the hitching posts lining the road and the occasional passerby were the only signs of life that dared the cold of the early afternoon. A fact for which Loki was thankful. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were and so had yet to judge what sort of recognition risk he might be at. He kept his head down as they walked, wishing he had taken up the Marshal’s offer yesterday to return and perhaps get a hat from the home he’d been furnished with back at his backwater. 

The Marshal reigned in Dummy outside the general store and swung his leg over the saddle, dismounting in  a fluid motion that only give Loki the briefest of chances to step back out of the way.

“Alright,” the Marshal started, stepping up to Dummy's saddlebags, and starting to rummage, speaking over his shoulder to Loki as he went, “I'll run in and get what we need. How long do you reckon it would be from here to where you last saw Thanos?” 

Loki was peering ahead, further down the road to where he was fairly certain he could see a building marked Sherriff. Not that he had to put much thought to the question, “I have no idea.” 

“Helpful...” the Marshal muttered into the bag.

Loki squinted to try and read the sign better but it was too far and he didn’t really want to draw the anyone’s attention by getting any closer, “I can’t say that the details are especially clear, Marshal,” he said distractedly, glancing around to try and determine to what extent he might need to be going by a different name. A judgement that had long been second nature upon entering a town, “Too much of my attention was focused on trying to remain conscious so that I didn’t fall from the horse. Time-keeping was not high on my list of priorities.”

“Fair enough.”

“I can show you on a map if that helps.”

“That’ll do,” the Marshal conceded as he pulled something out of the bag and turned to Loki. 

Loki brought his gaze back on him then ticked down to the shackles he was holding and fixed the Marshal with a flat look, “How many ticks of clock before this isn’t considered necessary?”

“Well, let’s start with one, and see how we go from there,” he flashed a grin and set about unlocking the cuffs. 

With no further argument, Loki presented his wrists and the Marshal slipped them on, closing the lock with barely a noise. The Marshal looped the shackles’ chain through a sturdy leather strap on Dummy’s saddle securing with a series of interlocking systems that he could now see was built into the saddle itself. 

Once he was satisfied that Loki was secure, the Marshal moved up to stand beside the  horse's head leant in close to it, “You make sure he doesn’t go anywhere.”

The horse just blinked in silence. 

“I’ll be quick.” With that the Marshal hopped up the steps and under the veranda that lined the streets edge.

“Are you still talking to the horse?!” Loki asked after him, but the Marshal didn’t respond, pressing on through the door to the general store. As the door shut, Loki shook the chain of his shackles experimentally bent to examine the interlocking system eyes narrowed studiously. It looked like some of the mechanisms might just be in reach of Loki’s fingers if he didn’t mind a little pain in his wrists. A half-smile tugged at his lips, “Well, it couldn’t hurt to try...”


End file.
